


Two Days

by iloveyoudie



Series: Sure would be a bummer if he got shot and died... [2]
Category: Endeavour (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Flirting, M/M, Modern Era, Near-Kisses, Poorly drawn lines between work life and personal life, Stakeout, figuring it out
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-27
Updated: 2020-07-27
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:48:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25550809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iloveyoudie/pseuds/iloveyoudie
Summary: It had been a long two days since George woke up mildly hungover and a bit sore in Ronnie Box’s bed.
Relationships: Ronnie Box/George Fancy
Series: Sure would be a bummer if he got shot and died... [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1695859
Comments: 20
Kudos: 22





	Two Days

It had been a long two days since George woke up mildly hungover and a bit sore in Ronnie Box’s bed. Two days of failing at trying to think of everything _but that_ as he passed him at work. Two days of Box giving him a wink with the usual morning greeting in the office and the occasional lingering glance that he caught out of the corner of his eye and prickled at the back of his neck. Two insufferable days of watching Box’s arse when he leaned over the copier or perched on the side of his desk and crossed his arms. He always wore those infuriatingly tight shirts and trousers and now George knew what he looked like without them. 

George had told Jim immediately. Nearly immediately. He’d gone through the first half of that first morning trying to make a concerted effort to act ‘normal’ but by lunch he’d had caffeine and a bit of food and as soon as he and Jim were alone he’d told him the entire thing about the pub and the car and then back to the flat-

“Jesus, matey,” Jim cringed slightly, but that wasn’t odd when George started oversharing, “Not sure if this was inevitable or if I should be concerned about your choices.” 

“You’ve been concerned about my choices for years,” George snorted over another cup of coffee, “And if you weren’t I’d’ve disowned you, Jimothy.”

“Excuse,” Jim straightened, “ _I_ would be disowning _you_.”

“You don’t own me!” George laughed, “I definitely own-”

“Strange.” It was Box’s voice, right behind George’s head, “Fancy.” 

He nodded at them both, passed by, and George felt his eyes linger a moment too long. Box was smirking. 

Jim and George were quiet a moment, until Box was out of earshot, and George finally exhaled, “Fuckin hell, he’s fit though.”

“Didn’t make a fat joke today,” Jim observed. He shrugged, “That’s something.”

George stuck his tongue out. 

What he really kept thinking about, he couldn’t tell Jim. It was the bits of his night with Box that made his insides go gooey. He couldn’t quite tell Jim that Box’s crooked smirk did bad things to this insides that had nothing to do with his libido. After only one night. He couldn’t tell him that Box stripped down of work and pretense was someone he wanted to know better. That he was sort of sweet in a weird, rough, kind of way. He made him feel very appreciated. Desired. That the fact he was sort of a problematic person, that he seemed vain and particular, that George actually liked all that too.

George hadn’t texted Box yet, not on his personal number at least. He worried about being too eager. There were rules for that sort of thing right? Play it cool. Don’t be desperate. Three days minimum?

Thankfully work had been busy with a big case as well, a double murder at a furniture manufacturing plant, so George also hadn’t had to work with him too closely.

Until today when Thursday had to go and put them on an assignment together. 

“Ronnie, take George with you. I want you two to work the factory site,” He said, “Morse and Jim can go round to the main suspects houses while you two ask around among the coworkers. I want to know what kind of place it is. See if they think anything odd is going on. Ronnie, push them all a little bit. When you’re done riling them up, I want you to settle in to watch the place. I’ve got a feeling someone may get antsy and make a mistake. See who comes and goes.” 

“Sure thing, Fred,” Box and Thursday always got along fine as long as George had been in the department, and that was no small vote of confidence on Box’s behalf. Even if everyone else hated Box, George knew Thursday had that sort of dadly wisdom that everyone respected. Yes. DADLY. 

“Fancy,” Box was all professional here but that smirk of his was back, “Ready to go for a ride?” 

George told himself not to answer back, not to grin, and not to look mildly turned on by the innuendo as he grabbed his things. 

* * *

“Nice car,” George said when they were finally away from the station. 

He’d ridden in it long before the events of the other night, but it was always for work and George had a sort of residual fear of the thing. It was one of those big black, wide, boxy, rumbling things with soft dove grey leather seats and red and black trimmed interior. It didn’t seem to be that new of a car, but it was taken care of like it was, and there was no more perfect description for both the man and the vehicle than _muscle_. 

As a constable who knew Box as sort of a prick as a work mate, the car was like a giant trap. Upholstery he could ruin. Dashboard he might dent. Customized floor mats he could track something awful onto. He didn’t even like to put something in the cup holder for fear of residual condensation.

As a guy who’d been in this car two days ago, in this exact seating configuration, drunkenly ignorant of how neat and clean the car was because all he wanted was to be dirty, he couldn’t ignore the tingle of memory of Box’s taste and smell and weight on his tongue. Or Box’s fingers in his hair, pulling and petting and gripping and murmuring his name like he was a wonder.... 

Now, the car was an entirely fresh experience. 

Box may have had the exact same thought because when he smiled at George this time, he could see a flash of his teeth, and all he said was, “Thanks.” 

They mostly talked about the case as they drove, except for the short detour that took them to the shops to pick up supplies for the mini stakeout they would be taking up later in the day. George found himself nosy about Box’s snack choices but lost him in the aisles and instead ended up surprised by the man when he came up behind him in the queue, just a few centimetres closer than usual, to mock George’s selection of half a dozen energy drinks and a massive bag of Doritos.

“Don’t you ever drink water?” Box snorted while clutching a Diet Coke himself. 

“Tea’s got water. Coffee’s got water. Pretty sure there’s water in these…” George actually turned the can to peer at the ingredients list, “Yeah, I’m sure it’s there somewhere.” 

Box laughed, looked slightly horrified, and moved past George to cut in front of him as the register cleared up. He plopped down his soda, a couple bottles of water, a packaged sandwich, and then gestured behind the clerk for cigarettes while he plucked up a pack of gum. 

When he was finished he paused to point an accusing finger at George, "No fuckin finger residue on my interior.” 

George opened his mouth to be cheeky again, but instead pressed his lips firmly into a smiling line and nodded with an acknowledging murmur of, “Sir.” 

* * *

"That wasn’t so bad," Box said as they pulled away from the factory carpark and pulled down the winding drive to exit. Except they didn't exit, right before the sign, Box pulled a sharp turn and parked the car out of immediate sight. They had a good view of the entrance and the road, with a corner of the factory itself visible through the trees. 

Their questioning had gone surprisingly smooth. George was used to playing clueless constable to Morse’s brainier detective, but Box was rougher and had a sort of natural intimidation factor that allowed George to be more present and personable and ask more questions of his own. Box didn’t interrupt him when he talked, and only interceded when he had a question of his own that was unanswered, or if the witness was being particularly difficult. They’d split up after a while, Box letting him roam free during the factory’s shift break, so he could mix in with the worker's relaxation time while Box had a word with a secretary who had been giving him very obvious eyes. 

Box had said she seemed suspicious when they finally linked back up, that his money was on her being involved, but there wasn't much more to do and so now they just had to wait. The keys were left in the ignition after the engine was turned off and Box set his seat back with a slight recline so he could stretch his legs. He draped his arm out the window, fished out his fags, and lit one. 

"So what are we waiting for, exactly?" George followed his lead, pushing his seat back a few inches and relaxing. He fished out his phone to find a text from Jim.

 **husband** 🍆  
> hows it going with box 😏

"I imagine Fred’s keen on seeing if any of them panic that we aren't fully focusing on the management. Body’s a couple days old," Box took a drag and looked at George as he exhaled through his nostrils, "no arrest yet. We’re looking deeper. Askin' more specific questions. Someone could get spooked, or if they are an accomplice, make a run to fill in the real killer."

[] good 👀

It was all George sent back to Jim. 

"We got time though, right?" George glanced away from his phone and clicked the screen off as he reached down to his feet to fetch the first of his energy drinks and also offered Box his Diet Coke. 

"I'd say it'd be too obvious to run out quickly. If we see anyone at all," Box took the drink and cracked the cap’s seal. The bottle looked small in his hands, "But their work day is over in a couple of hours. Let's see if anyone leaves early, or if anyone comes back later."

The factory was also the crime scene and suspicious people loved to go creeping around those when they were unsupervised.

George’s phone buzzed again.

> i dont wanna know

George smiled to himself.

[] hows things with morse  
> 🧠  
[] 😴

"Who you smilin at?" Box apparently had been watching him, reclined cooly against his window and still smoking. 

George couldn’t help the warmth that worked up from his collar. The work version of himself was very suddenly kicked into a cupboard in the back of his brain so the part of him that liked Box’s eyes on him could rush to the forefront all at once. 

"My boyfriend," George lied coolly. He flashed a grin. 

Box nodded his head, sucked his cheek a quick second, and then snorted, "Jim Strange."

The flushed feeling came back. It wasn’t embarrassment per say, but a sort of shock that he was so easily read, "Oi! I mean yes.. yeah. Its him… but its not _like that_."

"None'a my business," Box smiled wryly and looked out the windscreen and down the road. 

George looked back at his phone again but Jim hadn't replied. A little bit of him wanted to know why Box cared who he was talking to. Would he be jealous if George was talking to someone else?

But of course he was just sitting there looking smug now, so George's stomach gnawed at him in annoyance. He hadn’t figured out the balance yet, of wanting to jump Ronnie every single second they were in mutual company because he wanted to know what more he was capable of, while also knowing that he was working. They were at work. And Box was basically one of his bosses. 

But he did want to know him better. Box was a bit of a mystery, wasn't he? George found that he wanted to be the one person who _knew_ him. 

George took a deep breathe and released it before he realized it had been out loud and a bit dramatic sounding. Box didn’t move. He was just smoking and staring out the window. George examined his profile, his jaw, his nose, his hair, and then turned away to look out his own window. 

They were working. _This was work._

George watched cars pass on the road just at the edge of his vision line and felt his phone buzz in his hand. He glanced at Box first, mostly because of the comment he'd made about Jim, but Box was on his own phone now, scrolling something, and his cigarette was getting low as he idly flicked the ashes out the window. 

George turned his phone to look at it, swiping on automatic, and brought up Jim’s text. He hadn’t answered. It took George a moment to realize that the buzzing alert must have been from someone else so he swiped moved back into his inbox. 

**Hotbox** 🔥  
> u busy?

That heat rose again in George and he fought the urge to turn and look at Box. Instead he just stifled a smile and texted back. 

[] stuck with my boss on a stakeout.   
[] u?

He could hear Box’s phone buzz beside him and again fought the urge to look. The best George could do was to go for his drink in the cup holder and take a swig when he saw Box checking his phone and tapping in a reply. 

> just watching tv

George almost spit his drink all over the dash. When he glanced at Box the man was looking out the window again with a hand covering his mouth. He had to reach down and pull a napkin from his bag to mop his lips with and by the time he had his phone went off again. 

> whats your boss like

George’s brows lifted and he pursed his lips. 

[] prick.   
[] hot though  
> should i be jealous?  
[] of my boss or just of anyone else?  
> you tell me

George paused. He didn’t know the answer. He was usually good for a bit of flirting but generally in a text you didn’t have the other person sitting 8 inches away, able to watch your every movement, and observe you type out various responses and try them on before you deleted them and tried something else. 

George opened his mouth and found he didn’t know what to say aloud either. There was a momentary panic and then his phone buzzed again. 

“Jim,” he said aloud. 

“What?” Box sounded mildly incredulous, and within the context, George didn’t blame him. 

He clarified, “Jim - texted. He says Morse thinks the secretary may be involved and we should keep an eye on her.” 

Box straightened and brought his seat back up to meet him, “I said that bitch was shifty. Sell her own mother over for a bit of bling if you ask me. I’m gonna call him.”

George let out another breath as Box dialed Morse. The break was greatly appreciated, even if it was for work. He wasn’t sure how he would get out of the stalemate with the text. The whole thing was… well it was cute, texting him from his private number like that, while he was sitting right there, pretending like they were just normal blokes who’d hooked up and not like an Inspector and Constable. 

And that was a whole other problem. 

What would George have done if this was any other one time hookup? Usually he’d base it all on how good the other person had been. In this case, the answer was very good. So what, he’s supposed to twist this around for another go? That’s what he’d do in any other case. In the sober light of day was he supposed to flirt with his boss until he asked him to come round again?

He listened to Box tell Morse about the secretary, about the kind of woman he was sure she was, and distantly he heard Morse muttering back, and then Box saying he didn’t know what the hell he was talking about but they would keep an eye out. 

George had spaced out when Morse’s murmur had come in. He should have been trying to decipher the muffled responses so they were on the same page of the case. Instead, he was thinking about letting Ronnie Box have him right there in the car if he wanted. 

That was a thought. 

No. They were working. 

That _wasn’t_ a thought. 

“Morse thinks the CFO is banging her,” Box said as he hung up the phone, “What’d I say?” 

“Money,” George nodded, trying to move himself away from the head space from moments before. 

“S’always money, Georgie-boy,” Box flashed him a smile. 

George did blush this time. He wasn’t sure why. He just turned to glance at him and Box was leaning toward him a bit, smug about his deduction, and he’d said George’s name like that and-

Box seemed to still too. They just looked at each other. 

“You never texted me,” Box said low, like a secret. 

“You didn’t text me either,” George murmured.

“It’s only been two days-” Box started. 

George smirked. At least he wasn’t the only idiot who thought there was a rule about that.

“One and a half days more like,” Not that he was counting. George tried to sound coy, “Did you have a good time?” 

Box leaned closer and his eyes drifted to George’s lips and then back up. His voice got lower, “Been thinking about it nonstop for exactly _one and a half days_.”

George wanted to exhale in relief with a resounding _‘Me too’_ but he felt rather tongue tied and Box’s face so close to his own suddenly had blanked him out of all sense. This was it, the dream scenario, but also the nightmare scenario. It was the worst possible outcome for sleeping with your boss, the entanglement while on the job, but it was also the fantasy, wasn’t it? Your very fit Boss saying something smooth because he wants you and you say something seductive back and then you’re both leaning close because there’s just this energy, ya know? And you can smell him now, cigarettes and aftershave, and George remembers that morning shower they’d had - 

“I’d have you in this car right now-” Box was so close George was sure their lips brushed.

He desperately breathed, “Please.”

“-if not for the job.” 

Shit, right. Now he was the asshole wasn’t he?

Not that Box was moving away. 

“Maybe could fit in a bit of a snog..” Box murmured again, as if he were convincing both of them. 

And George closed the distance, moving forward and pressing their lips together, but just as he did a car blasted past them, someone going very fast, and the pair of them jumped apart and cursed. 

The driver had flowing auburn hair, massive sunglasses, and the same floral scarf as that secretary they were looking into. 

“It’s her!” Box was already bringing the car to life, shifting it, fixing his seat belt. He paused just a second though and shot George a look, “You set?” 

George had just clipped himself in, and he noticed Box’s eyes roaming him to make sure he was safe and secure. 

He flashed a grin that said he was good, get going, let’s give chase. He imagined they were both more interested in this part of the job than most of the others, “Yeah.” 

Box winked at him and slammed the gas and George couldn’t help let out a laugh as they tore away.

**Author's Note:**

> I enjoy rewinding my brain back to the time when they were still Not Sure What Was Going On Between Them.


End file.
